The Processes of Learning How to Feel
by CaliforniaDreamer
Summary: One shot, Literatiish. Jess centric. He is learning where he stands and how to grow up.


**Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. Does anyone else feel that these things get a bit redundant?**

**AN: This is what happens when people let me watch Nag Hammadi. I get ideas. Which isn't necessarily a good thing, as I really do have other things to write. Anyway, um...this starts off with Say Goodnight Gracie, goes a bit past Last Week's Fights, This Week's Tights. Jess POV, a bit different from what I normally do. And for the record, Jess's head is a bit of a scary place to be. Heh.**

**Dedication: The ORG girls, because we're back, baby! And especially to Michelle, because I swear, I'll write SoA one of these days! **

**The Processes of Learning How to Feel **

You think that you might be sick. You are staring at the window, and everything is speeding by because this bus is going so damn fast –_too fast_- and you aren't sure whether it's the thought of coming or going that's making you feel like this. Everything outside the window is so, so green, but it isn't really, it's nothing but shades of gray. Nothing makes sense, and you're always going to somehow manage to fuck things up.

Yep, you're definitely going to be sick.

You lean your head back against the hard plastic of the bus seat and squeeze your eyes shut.

You have never felt so _numb_ in your life.

ooo

This, you think, must be what regret feels like.

It is seeing her for the first time in months, and being a bit angry with her for cutting her hair, because you _liked_ it long. You used to be able to impress her with your talent for multitasking, getting your fingers tangled in her hair, playing with it idly, all the while exploring her mouth. But that was months ago, and she isn't likely to want to play that game anymore, not with you, anyhow.

It is running every time you see her because you can't stand that look on her face, the one of hurt mixed with confusion. It makes you remember the previous year, that year from hell when everything spiraled out of your control, and you just didn't care enough to fix it.

(But that's not true, you did care, really, or else this all wouldn't bother you so much. You did care, and that was the problem, because you weren't used to wanting to clean up your messes.)

It is chasing her down the street, feeling like the complete idiot you truly are, knowing that you have to do this, have to catch up with her, have to tell her that you love her, that you're sorry, that you were stupid, but you can be better, you will be better.

It is seeing her, righteously angry, and knowing that you have no right to say any of these things now. It is knowing that you should have said something sooner, back on the damn bus, maybe.

It is saying those words, even though you aren't entirely sure what they mean (how could you know, with a past like yours? Books, everything comes from books, but you aren't sure that you can learn this from a book) but you do know that this girl makes you feel something. It is turning around and driving away because you know it's too late.

You know, it hurts, and you pretend.

Life goes on.

ooo

This, you've learned, is giving up.

Giving up is like reaching whole new levels of pathetic that up until now you didn't even know existed. (And that is saying a lot, because your mother dove deep into pathetic throughout your growing up years.)

This apartment is giving up, with its cracked ceiling and leaking pipes. It is resignation to the fact that you had everything, and you managed to gamble it all away, because yes, you are that much of a fucking idiot.

This is wishing you could care about something, but you don't really have anything to care about.

You are living with the consequences of your actions, and for some reason, this makes you feel very old. You aren't that old, not even twenty, but you feel much older.

You keep on going because there is nothing else left for you to do.

ooo

You think you know what acceptance is, now.

You thought you knew it before, with _her_, and maybe she did accept you for a little while, trust you and let you in, but things went bad and she got wary, but that's pretty much your fault anyway, so you can't really blame her.

This is different.

This is a level of understanding. This is Luke, maybe not quite understanding you, but emphasizing. This is erased misunderstandings and reciprocation of respect. It is almost unspoken, but you never really were the verbose type, so it's okay.

This is having someone who gives a damn.

This is, maybe, what you needed.

ooo

You've been hurt before, but now you know pain. This is beyond the physical, which honestly isn't all that bad. You can deal with flesh wounds. A knife can cut and you can see the blood, see what's wrong and where to begin fixing it.

Two little letters, repeated like a mantra (_No-no-no, _damn it, didn't she know another fucking word?) and slicing through the flesh and bone without a trace. They bury themselves deeply inside you, but you don't flinch, strong and made of stone, you are.

You beg and plead, and this isn't you, no it's not, and that damn little voice is singing in the back of your head that it's over, over and she doesn't want you. But you are persistent, and that is the death of you.

She casts the final blow, and you concede. The pain is rippling through you, and you aren't sure how you are managing to stand, let along back away, but you do.

It hurtshurtshurts and oh, shit, it's over, you fucked it all up, and this is _it. _

A second later, you are numb again, and it is like the past year didn't happen. You are back at the beginning.

ooo

This, you've decided, is being okay.

It is a new apartment, cramped but clean, with a few boxes in the corner and Luke helping you drag more up.

It is having a job that actually pays enough to feed you, and, if you're careful with your spending, maybe buy you a book or two.

It is knowing now that maybe everything isn't all your fault. You screwed things up together, and after all, you ended together.

And now you aren't together, and maybe that's okay too, because your insides aren't tearing apart any more, and you think that you might be almost content.

END.


End file.
